


To Last the Night

by Haruka_1224



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A little bit of angst, Comfort, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 15:39:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7579975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haruka_1224/pseuds/Haruka_1224
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Who do I have to kill?"<br/>"Me."</p><p>Widowmaker finds out that even hyperactive, cheerful Tracer has her off days, and even the brightest of lights need a little help to last the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Last the Night

The first thing Widowmaker noticed when she lowered her rifle was the expression on Tracer's face. Or, to be precise, the lack thereof.

She looked like a doll, beautiful, of course, but empty and cold and hard, that annoying yet curiously endearing spark of hers nowhere to be found. It was as if someone had reached in and pulled the plug on her, plunging Tracer's normally sunny disposition into suffocating darkness.

"Bugger off," Tracer spat immediately, forgoing the silly banter and exchange of fire that had become characteristic of their meetings. She did not even bother to arm herself, her pistols stowed away in her gauntlets.

Something strange welled inside Widowmaker's chest at that, a prickly sense of unease. This was new, this was _wrong_ , Tracer had never been this melancholy before. It looked as if the dense, gray shroud of London had wrapped itself around the small woman, sinking into her lungs and polluting her very being.

"Something is wrong," she stated. There was no need to ask, not when her target wore her heart on her sleeve, right above the British flag.

The look in Tracer's eyes was hollow, as if someone had gouged out her insides, organs, soul and all, with a giant spoon. Her voice was hoarse, cracked, as if she had spent hours screaming it raw - she probably had, in a place where no one could hear her. "Why do you care?"

That was a good question, one that Widowmaker could not answer. She had no idea why she cared, why her insides churned uncomfortably at the sight of the bane of her existence in such a ragged, pathetic state. She should be delighted, the frustrating little pest had bags the size of Russia under her eyes and could barely even stand, let alone shoot straight. So why was her heart throbbing like an old wound in the rain?

"Who do I have to kill?" she hissed suddenly, venomously, surprising even herself with the sheer amount of hatred that welled up inside her.

Startled, Tracer gasped, "W-what?"

Through gritted teeth, Widowmaker repeated, spitting out each word as a sentence of its own. "Who do I have to kill?"

A small smile spread across Tracer's face at that, but before the warm, fuzzy feeling could fully settle in Widowmaker's heart, she said one little word that shattered it.

"Me."

That was it - something was awfully wrong. Tracer was a joker, yes, an incorrigible prankster, but she was not the sort to mock death or make a comment so dark. Something had happened to her, something had hurt her, and Widowmaker hated how the mere thought of it made her heart clench.

Dropping Widow's Kiss without a second thought, she strode purposefully toward Tracer, gripping the front of her jacket and lifting her off the ground. Worryingly, Tracer did not so much as flinch, remaining limp in her grip like a scolded puppy.

"You will not die, _cherie_ ," she hissed, her eyes smoldering with anger and... was that _fear_...? "I will not allow it."

"I thought you wanted to kill me," Tracer replied hollowly, refusing to take her eyes off the floor. "I'm right here, love, it would be awful hard to miss."

Widowmaker felt as if her stomach had just dropped a thousand feet, the pit of her belly turning into a chasm that swallowed up her organs. It felt disgusting to hear Tracer say _love_ like that, in that empty, icy tone full of despair. She hated it, hated what Tracer was doing to her; it had been so long since she had felt emotions that she could barely recognize them.

" _No_ ," she growled, quickly adding, "Not like this."

Tracer laughed, but it sounded off, the sound sending warning signs sparking through Widowmaker's brain. It wasn't her usual, cheeky giggle or her obnoxious, amused guffaw, it was something colder and thinner and it pierced through Widowmaker's heart like a bullet. Laughter wasn't supposed to sound like that, especially not Tracer's.

"Just kill me," she breathed, raising her head to pin Widowmaker with the heaviest, saddest and most broken look she had ever been on the receiving end of. Her voice quavered, " _Please_."

The feeling that filled Widowmaker's chest could only be described with one word: _agony_. It was pain so acute that she wanted to tear her heart out of her body, as if something had ripped its way out of her ribcage and obliterated everything in its path. It was pain without any physical origin, that made absolutely no sense, and she desperately wanted it to stop.

Giving in to the insistent cries of her body, she let Tracer down before pulling her close, pressing the younger woman's face against the gaping hole in her breast. As expected, Tracer stiffened, her hands balling into fists against her sides, before melting into the embrace with a shaky breath.

It took barely a second for her to crumble, falling apart like glass hitting the floor, quiet sniffing growing into trembling sobs that quickly gave way to heartbroken, jagged wailing. Every sound that escaped her lips was like a knife to Widowmaker's chest, raking invisible wounds across her flesh and biting deep into her organs. She had no idea why Tracer's cries affected her the way they did, it was hardly the first time she had heard such raw cries of human agony. They formed the background of most of her battles, tearing free from the throats of those who loved her now-lifeless target; was it merely because it was _Tracer_ that was making those unearthly wails?

Subconsciously, one of her hands rested on the small of Tracer's back, the other tangling itself in the disaster that was her hair. Widowmaker longed to say something, anything, that would stop the other woman's tears, but she had not the faintest clue which words to use. She spoke with her gun, and if the situation called for it, her fists; she was hardly qualified to soothe a sobbing child.

Still, she tried, the words escaping her lips before her mind had the chance to process and filter them.

"I want you to live, _cherie_."

Dangerously traitorous words, if Talon were to hear them, but she would not take them back for the world. Life was more colorful with her little blowfly in it, and Widowmaker would do anything in her power to ensure that it stayed that way.

Between shaky sobs, Tracer choked out a name, one that she had not heard in years. "Amélie..."

Widowmaker flinched, struggling to contain her thundering heartbeat as she snarled, "Do not call me that."

"S-sorry," Tracer folded immediately, looking up at Widowmaker with the largest, wettest puppy-dog eyes she had ever seen.

 _Merde_. It should be illegal for any one person to look that cute. There was far too much power in Tracer's face, even when obstructed by tear-streaked, goofy orange goggles. Murders had been committed for such a face, wars had been fought and blood shed for such a face.

"Go," she said suddenly, breaking the hug. The confused, sad look Tracer gave her almost made her change her mind, but she knew that it was not a good idea to linger where they could be found. They both had teammates who would be wondering why they had not heard any gunshots. "Talon will retreat, for now. Run along, little pup."

It took a few seconds for it to click in Tracer's head - she was being told to rest, to recover, to _live_ , so that they could meet again another day and enjoy the adrenalin-filled benefits of the other's presence.

"Right," she lifted her goggles to wipe her eyes, "T-thank you."

Warmth flushed through Widowmaker, soothing the wounds that Tracer's sorrow had left behind. "It was nothing, _cherie_."

Tracer's sloppy salute carried with it just the slightest edge of her usual spark, but enough to reassure Widowmaker that she would be alright. "Aye aye, Captain!"

Rolling her eyes, Widowmaker picked up her gun and made her way to the open window, carefully scanning the rooftops above. Just before she activated her grappling hook, she turned and smiled faintly, " _Adieu, cherie_."

To her relief, the light in Tracer's eyes returned full-force as she sing-songed, "Catch you later, love!"


End file.
